


Tripping Into You

by theheartofthekoko



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Enemies to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, but really enemies to mutual pining to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:07:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21954139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheartofthekoko/pseuds/theheartofthekoko
Summary: Quentin's a delivery driver. Eliot's the problem customer that won't stop calling. I wonder where this could be going?
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	Tripping Into You

“Hi, this is Bellagio’s Pizza. Will this be for delivery or would you like to dine in?” Quentin asked, trying to keep his voice upbeat despite the day dragging onto its tenth hour. 

“Well, Bellagio’s is garbage, but my Bambi needs her carbs, so what do you have that’s edible?” the man on the other end asked. 

Quentin took a deep breath, steeling his nerves for the problem customer he could tell this was going to turn out to be. “Well before that, can I get a name for your order?” 

“It’s Eliot.” 

“Okay, did you want it delivered, or would you like to pick it up?” 

“Delivered, we’re not animals,” he responded, laughing. 

“Okay, can I get your address?” 

“That’s rather forward of you, don’t you think?” the man asked, still laughing. 

Quentin was once again forced to take a deep breath to calm his nerves before finally needling the address out of this asshole of a customer and moving on to the menu. “Okay, what can I get for you?” 

“What do you have that’s full of enough carbs to soak up half a bottle of tequila while not tasting like trash?” 

“Well, we have sandwiches, pasta, pizzas, and breadsticks! What can I get started for you?” His customer service voice was getting higher and more chipper by the second, as he attempted to maintain a semblance of professionalism. 

“How about some pasta, hmm?” the man responded. “Make it white sauce, add some chicken and we’ll call it good. Oh, and throw in some of those breadsticks, won’t you?” 

“Of course, sir. That’ll be $15.98. Would you like to pay cash or card?” 

“Cash. And send out your cutest delivery boy while you’re at it. Giving me his phone number can by my tip, hmm?” the man almost purred. 

That’s it. Quentin had had enough of this man. He didn’t get paid enough for this. _No one_ did. “Now listen here, you asshole,” he started. “None of us get paid enough to deal with your shit. So how about I send out whatever driver is next up for your order or not at all?” 

After a shocked silence, Quentin could hear laughter on the other end of the line, but before he could hang up on the man, he started speaking. “Oh, you’re a feisty one, aren’t you? How about you just send out yourself? You sound like you’d be worth the trouble.” 

Instead of responding, Quentin let out what could only be called a shriek of rage, before hanging up the phone with extreme prejudice. Afterward, he stared at the order screen, contemplating all his life choices. He didn’t actually _have_ the authority to refuse the order, much less pick who delivered it. With a bedraggled sigh, he sent the order through and went to go stock the sodas. 

********

“Quentin, you’re up!” Penny shouted from his spot at the ovens. 

Quentin grabbed the driver tag off the box and let his shoulders slump at the name staring back at him. He mentally ran a pro/con list in his head on asking Penny to switch deliveries for him or having to talk to this Eliot in person. With one look at Penny’s scowling face, he bagged the order and headed to his car. 

He spent the drive taking deep breaths, trying to shore up his customer service personality. He’d show this Eliot what professionalism looked like. He would be pleasant. He would be appropriate. He would not scream in his face or storm away in a huff. He would be a Zen master. When that didn’t stop his body from vibrating in nervous anger, he parked, grabbed the bag from the passenger seat and headed for the front door. 

After two knocks, the door swung open and—oh. Oh, no. Quentin’s eyes traveled from his sculpted calves, on display in a risqué purple robe, up his toned thighs, got momentarily stuck on his partially visible chest, before settling on his face. And what a face, his jaw sharp, his eyes a glorious hazel, and his lips pink and pursed in amusement. At his clear delight with Quentin’s stumbling, he was reminded of what an asshole this guy was and straightened his spine and mouth into firm lines. 

“That’ll be $15.98, sir,” he prompted, holding his free hand out impatiently. 

“Oh, sir, huh? I was hoping you’d call me daddy,” he replied. He cocked his hip out suggestively, barring more of his thigh while he dug in the robe’s pocket for the money. 

Quentin’s eyes were drawn, almost against his will, to the bared strip of thigh, and didn’t notice he’d been staring until he heard the man’s throat clear politely. The look on his face was anything other than polite, instead a weird mix of flirty and mocking that Quentin tried furiously to convince himself wasn’t working for him. When he finally noticed the money held out in the palm of Eliot’s hand, he flushed in embarrassment, reaching out to take it from him. 

“Let me— let me get you some change,” he stuttered, desperately reaching into his pocket to find his money. 

“Oh no, that’s all for you,” the man replied, halting his movements with a hand on his wrist, thumb stroking. 

“Uh—but sir, it’s uh— almost ten dollars change. I mean, are you sure?” Quentin asked, speech stalling from the thumb rubbing methodically over his pulse point. 

“Of course, you’ve earned it,” he replied with a flirty wink. “And if you refuse to call me daddy, at least use my name.” 

Quentin’s fumbling response stalled out as a beautiful woman, in a similar state of undress, appeared in the doorway and wrapped one arm around Eliot’s waist. Eliot immediately dropped Quentin’s wrist to squeeze her into him. The beautiful woman smirked at Quentin while running her hand up Eliot’s back. 

“El, dear, stop playing with your food,” she chides, with a playful slap to his ass. 

“But Bambi, you know how I like to play,” he said, smile still curling his lips. 

Quentin freezes in panic. Here was this gorgeous man, clearly out of his league, flirting with him. Of course, he had a beautiful girlfriend. They looked so comfortable together, cocky and sexy and at ease in a way Quentin never managed to be. He’d been toying with him, playing with his food, as the woman had said. 

In a blind panic, Quentin pulled the food out of the bag, shoved it in Eliot’s arms, and spun around to speed-walk back to his car. He didn’t stop to put on his seatbelt, just peeled away from the curb, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel in embarrassment. On the bright side, he would never have to see either of them again. And in a few years, he could pretend the whole thing had never happened. 

********

“Bambi,” Eliot chided with a shove to her side. 

“What?” Margo asked, a sly smile on her lips. “You do like to play with them, don’t you?” 

Eliot sighed dramatically. When Margo didn’t respond, he sauntered into the living room, dropped the food onto the coffee table, and flopped artfully onto the couch with an even louder sigh, to cover his eyes with the back of his hand in his usual dramatic flair. 

“What?” Margo demanded again as she dropped gracefully onto the other side of the couch to pull Eliot’s feet into her lap. “He was random cock, at best. What’s the big deal?” 

“Did you see that face?” Eliot asked. “He’s at least booty-call status. Or he would be if _you_ hadn’t scared him off.” 

“Oh, come on. We’re a package deal, Babe. If he can’t deal, then he’s out,” Margo said as she dug her fingers into the meat of Eliot’s feet. 

Eliot’s spine turned to jelly as her nimble fingers worked the tension out of his feet. He relaxed further into the couch, contemplating the cute delivery boy once more. More specifically, he thought about the delectable butt on the cute delivery boy as he practically fled from their doorstep at the sight of Margo. 

“Did you see his ass, though?” Eliot asked. 

“You could bounce a quarter off it, I’ll give you that,” Margo responded. 

She dropped his feet back into her lap before shoving them off the couch entirely. The momentum took Eliot down to the floor with them. As Margo stepped over his prone form, Eliot got an idea. A wicked idea he couldn’t resist. 

“Hey, Margo! What do you think about getting pizza for dinner tomorrow?” Laughter was her only response. 

********

The next day, Quentin answered the phone at work with his usual, peppy greeting. More unusual was the response his greeting garnered. 

“Well, you’re the expert. What would you recommend?” a drawling voice asked. 

Quentin frantically looked down at the computer. The name on the screen made his stomach drop into his toes. It was Eliot. Eliot of _last night._ Eliot of _never having to see him again after that awkward interaction_ Eliot of _oh god, what was he supposed to do?_

“—llo?” Eliot’s voice asked through the phone. “Did we miss our connection?” 

“I’m still here!” Quentin said, voice coming out too high, too fast, too awkward. “What can I do for you?” 

“Like I said, what would you recommend?” 

“Well, did you like your pasta last night?” Quentin asked. 

“Oh, you remember me.” Eliot sounded delighted. Quentin felt his stomach flip from his toes into his throat. 

“Yes. Would you—” he asked, “would you like the same thing again?” 

“I don’t know. I was thinking of changing it up. What would you recommend for pizza?” Eliot asked, voice languid and smooth. 

“Our brooklyn pizza is very popular. Would you like one, sir?” 

“Sir, again, huh?” Eliot asked. “Why don’t you call me Eliot.” 

“Of course. Did you want the brooklyn?” 

Quentin’s grasp on the situation was getting more and more tenuous. His customer service voice had abandoned him completely for a stuttering, squeaking mess that was apparently coming from his mouth. He could not handle this customer and it was, in fact, becoming a problem. 

“You still didn’t say it. Say my name,” Eliot commanded. 

“Eliot,” Quentin’s mouth said without any permission from his brain. “I mean—will that be all?” 

“I haven’t even told you what I wanted,” Eliot said, voice quiet and breathy. 

“Right, of course! What can I get for you?” In contrast, Quentin’s voice was loud enough that Penny was currently glaring at him from the make-line. 

“I’ll take one of those brooklyn pizza’s, with pepperoni and sausage. Can you do that for me?” 

“Yes, sir,” Quentin said. “I mean Eliot.” He could hear laughter ringing through the line, making his cheeks color and heat. Penny was still glaring at him. “Will this be for delivery or would you like to dine in?” 

“Delivery, of course,” Eliot responded. “Make sure to send out my favorite delivery driver.” 

Before Quentin could respond, the dial tone rang in his ear. After pulling the phone away from his ear and staring at it for several long seconds, Quentin placed it back in its cradle and stared at Eliot’s name on the screen instead. 

“What are you looking at, dumbass?” Penny called, still actively glaring. 

“Nothing! It’s just—nothing—never mind.” Quentin quickly entered in Eliot’s order, hesitated over the form of payment before settling on cash, and sending it through before Penny could give him any more shit. 

When Eliot’s food rolled out of the oven, Penny assigned Quentin the delivery by brusquely handing him the delivery tag. Quentin stood still, staring down at the tag in his hands in building trepidation. 

“What are you doing, man?” Penny asked. “Move it, you’ve got a double coming up after this.” 

“Right,” Quentin muttered, bagging the order and hurrying out to his car on autopilot. 

On the way, Quentin tried not to think about Eliot’s thighs, or his lips, or his flirting. He had a girlfriend, and Quentin refused to be a toy mouse for Eliot to bat around. He would be strong and professional. He could do it. Eliot wasn’t _that_ attractive. He was just a man. It’d be fine. 

All his bravado flew out the window when Eliot opened the door. Unlike last time, he was fully clothed in tight white pants, a white button-up dress shirt with burgundy tie pulled tight and a tan vest fully buttoned. He was even wearing brown leather shoes fancier than anything in Quentin’s entire closet. Despite his clothed state, Quentin couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering up Eliot’s frame, marveling at the way the fabric clung in all the right places. 

Quentin’s focus on Eliot’s physique was once-again interrupted by a throat clearing. He snapped his eyes up to meet Eliot’s, blushing at the wry quirk of his lips. 

“You did send out my favorite delivery boy, didn’t you?” Eliot asked with an honest-to-god wink. 

“I—I was the only one free,” Quentin said, stumbling over his words. 

“Lucky for me,” Eliot said, clapping his hands together. “Now, you’ve got to tell me your name. I can’t just keep calling you my favorite delivery boy, now can I?” 

“It’s Quentin.” He could feel his cheeks grow warmer at Eliot’s attention but tried to force it down by thinking about the beautiful woman who’d hung on his arm the night before. 

“Well, Quentin,” he drawled, “it’s a pleasure to see you again.” 

Quentin felt his mouth dry in response to Eliot’s suggestive tone. After scrambling for a response and coming up blank, he pulled the pizza out of his bag and shoved it into Eliot’s arms. “That’ll just be $12.49 then,” he said, dropping his eyes to his scuffed sneakers. At the brush of warm skin on his hand, Quentin jerked his eyes up, marveling at his hand cradled in one of Eliot’s own. He watched, transfixed, as Eliot’s thumb rubbed his knuckles gently as his other hand gently placed a twenty-dollar-bill into his hand and forced Quentin’s hand to curl around it. 

“Let me just get you some change!” Quentin said much too suddenly while trying unsuccessfully to dig into his pocket for his money without jarring his hand in Eliot’s hold. 

“No,” Eliot responded, laughing. “It’s a tip, for my favorite delivery boy.” With a gentle squeeze to his hand, Eliot withdrew his own with a genuine smile playing across his face. 

“Are you su—I mean thank you,” Quentin said, hand still tingling from the warmth of Eliot’s touch. 

“Until next time, Quentin.” 

He gently closed the door, leaving Quentin standing stock-still, staring at its surface. What had just happened? Quentin turned back towards his car and stumbled away; thoughts full of Eliot. 

********

“Bambi, you should have seen him,” Eliot laments as Margo scarfs down the leftover pizza across from him at the dinner table. “He got so flustered. I didn’t even have to _try._ You should have seen him blush—”

“Yeah, yeah, but did you get a phone number?” Margo interrupted, mouth still full of pizza. 

”No, but I got a name. It’s Quentin.” 

“What kind of name is that?” 

“An excellent one,” Eliot defended. “It fits him so well, don’t you think?” he asked, eyes shining with excitement. 

“Okay,” Margo started before stalling, “this is clearly more than random cock. What gives, Waugh?” 

Eliot paused, staring down at his hands clasped on the table, unsure. It wasn’t that Quentin was pretty, although he was, and it wasn’t that he got so flustered, although he did. It was just—Quentin was so different than who he usually went for. He was shy, and for whatever reason, it made Eliot want to prod at him until he came out of his shell and snarked right back at Eliot. He just—he _wanted._

“Come on, Bambi,” he replied glibly. “He’s a high-strung super nerd. We love those.” 

From Margo’s huff of annoyance, she didn’t buy it, but blessedly, she didn’t press for more. Eliot was grateful. He didn’t have much more, and what he did was fragile and tenuous. He didn’t want Margo to break it, whatever this fragile thing was. 

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” Margo said, before once again filling her mouth with leftovers. 

“I always do.” 

********

A pattern emerged: Eliot kept ordering pizza and Quentin kept delivering it, anticipating seeing Eliot again. Each time, Eliot would needle him until he was a stumbling wreck, his foot permanently superglued to his mouth with how often he found it in there. Despite this, he found himself flirting back, shy and awkward in his halting way. Quentin could feel himself being drawn in by Eliot’s magnetism, despite the beautiful woman who he now knows of as Margo clearly being his girlfriend. Despite everything telling him it was a hilariously bad idea, Quentin could feel himself falling. But lines were crossed, and Quentin didn’t know what to do anymore: 

“Just fuck him already, won’t you?” Margo yelled from the depths of the house, “I’m tired of watching House Hunters alone, you twat.” 

_“Bambi!”_ Eliot yelled back looking affronted. 

“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go,” Quentin said, eyes darting away from Eliot’s own as he hurriedly shoved the pizza into Eliot’s arms and rushed to his car. 

As he slammed his door, he could hear Eliot shouting after him, but peeled off the street instead of staying to listen, driving further and further away from the scene of his mortification. He knew better than to invest himself in Eliot, he really did. But it was, well, _Eliot_ Put together, charming, flirtatious Eliot who had a girlfriend. Eliot who was using Quentin to make Margo jealous or as a quick fling before getting back to his real relationship. Eliot who wasn’t available, no matter how much Quentin wanted him to be. 

********

The next time Eliot ordered pizza, he opened the door in excitement to find his porch noticeably lacking in his favorite delivery boy. Instead, a petite brunette stood on his doorstep, eyes cool. 

“You’re not Quentin,” he said. 

“No, I’m not,” she replied. “Now that’ll be $15.98.” 

“Where’s Quentin?” he asked, placing the money in her palm. 

“Busy.” 

With that one final word, she shoved his food into his chest and stomped away. Eliot shut the door on her receding figure, feeling decidedly hurt. Quentin deserved days off, of course, but the daily dose of sunshine in the shape of his favorite delivery boy isn’t at all what he’d gotten. 

“How’s your boy doing today?” Margo asked from the couch. 

“I don’t know, Bambi, I think I’ve been stood up.” 

He put the food onto the coffee table and collapsed on the couch beside her, hand draped dramatically across his forehead in the classic thespian fainting pose. 

“Well, there’s always tomorrow.” 

”Of course. Who could resist me?” 

********

“What is wrong with you?” Julia demanded, watching him accidentally drop his third pizza of the night onto the floor. 

“Nothing, nothing!” he assured her, hands waving in supplication, “I’m just—” 

“Stop the bullshit, Q. Just tell me what’s wrong.” 

Quentin closed his eyes, shoring herself up against her onslaught of unwanted questions, but then he felt her hands on his shoulders, squeezing his muscles just right, and he melted. Just like she knew he would. 

“There’s just this guy—” 

“A _guy!”_

“—and I let myself get invested in him even—”

“What guy?” 

“—though I knew I shouldn’t and that it wouldn’t ever even work out, because he’s _Eliot,_ you know? And I’m just Quentin, and I know I don’t know anything about him, but those eyes, and he always just looks so confident, and everything he says makes it feel like my heart is breaking out in sweats, you know?” he finished breathlessly. 

After a few seconds of prolonged silence, Quentin felt Julia’s hands leave his shoulders. He opened his eyes slowly, as if by prolonging the moment his gaze would meet hers, he could somehow shove the unrequited crush confession back into his mouth and bottle it up for her to never have heard. Instead, there Julia stood, hands on her hips as she glared down at him. 

“Quentin Fucking Coldwater!” she declared with a pointed jab to his chest. “You’re a goddamn unicorn and any man would be lucky to have you. You know that, right?” 

When he didn’t respond, she sighed and hooked her arm around his shoulder, leading him away from the oven. He went with her willingly, ready to throw himself upon her mercy and wisdom as the smartest person he knew. 

“Now, tell me. Who is this Eliot you mentioned and what did he do?” 

“He’s just this customer—”

“A _customer!”_

“—but I guess he just wanted to sleep with me?” he asked. “Or that’s what his girlfriend said at least.” 

“Wait, wait wait,” Julia said, pausing in their walk out the door, “he has a girlfriend?” 

Quentin’s face fell further as he nodded in defeat. “I just don’t want to go back there. Is that okay? If I don’t go back, do you think?” 

“Of course, Q,” she said, patting his cheek in condescension, “even Penny’s been worried about you. We’ll figure it out.” 

********

As it turns out, Quentin could resist him. The next time he ordered, he got an unfamiliar, if perfectly pleasant person at his door, dropping off food that doesn’t taste nearly as good as it normally does. The time after that, someone else entirely showed up, pizza in hand. And the time after that, he found the surly brunette on his doorstep once more. 

“Is Quentin okay?” he asked

“How is that any of your business?” 

Her words are sharp, and Eliot almost feels himself shrinking back from her slight frame but forces himself to continue. 

“He’s not usually gone this long—that’s all.” 

“Well get used to it.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eliot demanded, refusing to give her the money until he got his answers. 

“It _means_ that he’s my best friend, and I’m not going to let you fuck with him anymore,” she said, punctuating her words with repeated jabs to his chest until he knocked her hand away. 

“I never fucked with him! What are you even talking about?” Eliot demanded. 

“Yeah, right. Grow up, fuckwad. You’re way too old to be playing these games,” she said with a disdained sweep of her eyes up and down his frame. 

Without waiting for his response, she sauntered back to her door, pizza still encased in its bag. Eliot watched her drive off in baffled hurt. It wasn’t until she’d completely disappeared from sight that he finally closed the door and stumbled back into the living room. 

“Where’s the pizza?” Margo demanded. 

“I think I fucked up, Bambi. I’m just not sure how.”

********

It’s been almost a week since Eliot had last ordered pizza, and Quentin’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved. Things are starting to almost seem normal again, and he’s not going to miss Penny’s pitying looks from across the restaurant when this finally blows over. Yesterday, Penny actually patted his shoulder when he’d clocked out for the day and Quentin damn near fainted right then and there. 

Anyway, Quentin’s pretty sure he’s in the clear, so it’d be great if his heart would stop accelerating every time the phone started ringing like some messed up Pavlovian response to the idea of Eliot’s name on the caller I.D. It’s not like he’d even answer it, so if his heart could just cool it in the pining department that’d be great, _thank you very much._

Quentin was so lost in thought, he didn’t hear the ding of the front door opening until a customer was standing right in front of the counter. Without looking up, he began his memorized spiel. 

“Welcome to Bellagio’s Pizza. Will you be dining in with us this evening?” 

“I was hoping to dine out, actually. Perhaps a table for two?” 

And, oh. Oh, _no._ Quentin knew that voice. Had heard it enough times and imagined it even more. He should square his shoulders, face him head-on like the mature, rational adult he could occasionally pretend to be. Instead, as if on instinct, Quentin darted to the left, rushing towards the corner of the kitchen that he knew was invisible to customer’s prying eyes. Unfortunately for his dignity and his ass, his foot got caught in the too-long coil of the phone cord, As both feet fly out from under him, Quentin had just enough time to accept his fate before falling on his ass, bringing a computer monitor, phone, and napkin holder down on top of him. 

He’s dazed for a minute, ears ringing, synapses misfiring from the pain in his ass. But when it fades, he still doesn’t get up. He can’t because he knows who’s on the other side of the counter now, remembers who witnessed one of the most embarrassing falls of his life, and he can’t face him ever again. Maybe if he just stays down here, the floor will swallow him whole and he won’t have to see Eliot laughing at him. Only, there Eliot is. Eyes almost frantic as he rushed around the counter. He’s really not supposed to be back here. 

“You’re not supposed to be back here.” 

“Are you okay?” Eliot asked, bending to crouch down in front of him. 

Quentin sat still, dumbstruck as Eliot removed the computer from his stomach and put it back snug against the countertop, followed swiftly by the napkin dispenser and phone, until it was just Quentin sitting there, staring dumbly up at him. 

“Did you hit your head?” Eliot asked. 

Quentin was shocked to feel Eliot’s fingers threading into his hair, palm flat against the back of his head as he probed for bumps that weren’t there. Quentin looked up into his worried eyes and felt that telltale twist in his stomach, tingling in his fingers as he suppressed the urge to reach out— 

“Get away from him!” Penny yelled, breaking the spell. 

Quentin watched, feeling shocky and strangely warmed, as Penny stormed over and wrenched Eliot up by the back of his shirt and bodily shoved him away from Quentin, using his body as a shield between the two men. 

“You’re not allowed back here,” Penny said, before seemingly dismissing Eliot and turning his back on him to pull Quentin to his feet. 

As Penny brushed floor debris off his shoulders and sides with gruff concern, Quentin felt a burst of affection run through him, prompting him to pull Penny into a hug. But Penny was still Penny, and he shoved him off before Quentin’s arms had even fully closed around him. Quentin smiled sheepishly up at him as Penny crossed his arms and scowled down. Then, he caught sight of Eliot still standing awkwardly behind Penny and the smile slipped off his face as if it were never there. Penny immediately whirled around, finger pointed accusingly at Eliot. 

“I thought I told you to get out of here?” 

“I just wanted to make sure he’s okay.” 

“He’s fine,” Penny said, “now go.” 

Okay, unexpected soft emotions about Penny or not, enough was enough. With a gentle shove to Penny’s side, Quentin shouldered past him to stand in front of Eliot, spine straight, ready to fight his own battle, slay his own dragon, yada yada. 

“I’ll handle it, Penny” he assured, “you don’t need to worry.” 

“As if I’d worry about you, loser,” Penny barked back, but the drag of his reluctant feet as he walked to the back office and shut the door painted an entirely different picture. 

Then it was just Quentin and Eliot, staring at each other in silence. Quentin’s suddenly very aware of the way his hands dangle at his sides. Do they look stupid? Should he do something with them? He tried crossing them, but that might look like he’s hugging himself, so he dangled them at his side again, but no. So, he put them on his hips, and that doesn’t feel right, but he’s changed positions way too many times now so he can’t just move them and—

“What can I get started for you today, sir?” he blurted out, immediately feeling his face heat in mortification. 

“How about some garlic bread, and a date this Friday?” 

Quentin’s brain stopped working. He can almost hear the wonky wheels that churn out thoughts from his burned-out factory of a brain screech and stop. And maybe this metaphor is getting away from him, but all he can do is stare at Eliot in bafflement, and he’s not sure how long this staring contest has been going on, but by the way Eliot’s eyes are shifting back and forth, it’s been long enough to be uncomfortable, but he just can’t move, speak, do _anything._

 _ _  
__

But then Eliot’s backing away with his palms raised saying things like “no hard feelings” and “I bond fast, but I move on even faster” and it’s like something finally clicked Quentin’s brain back on. 

Then it’s like his gears started turning again, thoughts pouring out of him like gravy and the few he caught before they faded away are full of a hope so bright and pure that it’s almost painful to think about, because maybe Eliot was actually interested in him. But he’s leaving and Quentin can’t let him, so he finally broke the spell he was stuck under and _moved._

He lunged forward, wrapping his hand around Eliot’s wrist to halt his retreat. 

“I would love to,” he said, too loud and overeager. Clearing his throat in embarrassment, he continued, “After all, I do already have your phone number.” 

Eliot threw back his head and laughed. 

********

“How’s your favorite boy tonight?” Margo asked from her customary spot on the couch. 

“Amazing, as always,” Eliot replied, smile very much of the Cheshire who’d caught the canary. 

All was well, as he settled down next to Margo to watch House Hunters, in quiet contentment for the rest of the night. After all, he had a date with one Quentin in a few days. Plenty of time to plan where he’d take Quentin, and what he’d wear. 

“Shit, Margo!” Eliot exclaimed, “I don’t have anything to wear!” 


End file.
